Ode to My Peanut Butter

My Peanut Butter
rests consistently, 
its consistency,
in jars of glass.

Natural,
oily,
chunky and firm;
stirred with powerful tools
'til smooth like butter.

Shelved
in darkness
with other palatable favorites
awaiting its chance
to satisfy a craving.

Dreaming
of apple wedges and 
golden brown toast;
being dolloped or spread
or licked from silver spoons.

My Peanut Butter
called by one name;
roasted, salted,
ooey, gooey, delicious.

Originally poem composed October 22, 2022 for #TeachWritetober22